


Perfect Diamond

by JeanSouth



Series: UshiOi Week 2017 [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Yakuza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 15:23:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11694477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanSouth/pseuds/JeanSouth
Summary: Day 4 for UshiOi Week.Oikawa had about five seconds after he closed the door between the bathroom and the set before everything went dark.





	Perfect Diamond

Oikawa had about five seconds after he closed the door between the bathroom and the set before everything went dark.

Outside, the photographer chatted with the hairstylist, making good points about lighting and general points about fashion to eachother. The stylist flicked through the rack in search of clothes that would look just right against the next set of diamonds set in yellow gold.

When he woke up, Oikawa was still in expensive slacks in a rich, deep black, but the blazer he'd been wearing over his partially unbuttoned white shirt was gone. Since it was hot in the room he didn't mind that much, but he desperately wanted to pat his pocket and find his phone even though he'd never had it in that pocket to begin with.

When he turned his head, he noticed he was suspiciously free of weight, though. Gone was the heavy diamond necklace set in silver. The diamonds in it were more expensive than he'd really wanted to ask about, let alone for the value of the entire six piece set. When he felt around, the rest had gone too, save for a single ring. The earrings no longer weighed on him, and his wrists were bound but weren't pinched by either the cuff or the intricate watch. The ring he'd had on his right hand was gone, too.

At least he hadn't offended anyone, he thought inanely. It was almost more of a hope than anything else. Surely they just wanted the money?

It took a few hours - or so it seemed - before anyone came to check on him. The man, for surely it had to be a man with such broad shoulders and such height, had a hood on that dipped deep over his face and threw everything but his lips into deep, dark shadow. Though he squinted, he couldn't see anything in the darkness.

A glass of water was lifted to his lips, and the sight of it seemed to remind him that he was absolutely parched.

"Are you hungry?" the man asked, his voice quiet. It felt like he was talking to a startled calf. "I'm sorry you had to be knocked out. If you'd struggled, it would have been difficult for us."

"Yes," Oikawa replied, unable to be annoyed by the matter-of-fact statement. He supposed that if he were a... kidnapper, or spy, or thief, or whatever this man even was, he'd want it to go off with as few variables as possible too. "Please. Thank you."

Manners helped. Or so he wanted to believe, too. When he was unshackled from the chair and helped up by the elbow, he was almost sure he was right. It was almost tempting to strike up a conversation on their way through the hallways of whatever compound they were in, but looking for doors and remembering turns took priority.

Eventually he was sat at a simple table, though it looked more like it came from IKEA than a campground. The food was similarly of a higher standard than he'd expected, judging by the smell of it. Chopsticks were set next to the bowl, and his captor stepped back to guard the door and watch.

He had to wonder - was it just cruel? But Oikawa lived by Hanlon's Razor - in other words, never attribute to malice that which could be adequately explained by stupidity.

"Excuse me," he said eventually, catching his guard's attention from where it seemed fixed on some point of the floor judging by the angle of his hood. When the attention was on him again, he shimmied his shoulders a bit to draw eyes to them and his hands, still bound behind his back. "I'm having some issues eating this."

His guard's shoulders stiffened minutely and he seemed to think for a moment before pulling another chair towards the table. Before he stepped close enough for Oikawa to catch a glimpse of him, he pulled the hood further down and tugged a mask up that covered the lower part of his face. Once he sat, he pulled the throw-away chopsticks apart and checked the heat of the bowl with the back of his hand. In the time he'd waited, it had cooled enough to stop steaming and probably wouldn't burn his mouth.

When the chopsticks were raised to his mouth, hunger overrode the natural instinct to not be treated as a child that couldn't feed himself, so he opened his mouth and took it.

"This is actually really good!" he burst out, his arm flexing to try to raise a hand to cover his mouth out of politeness. A small huff came from his guard, though the tone of it seemed to be more amusement than anything else. He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry."

His guard shook his head, and almost seemed to have relaxed a bit by the time Oikawa finished eating. He felt full and sated, almost ready for a nap. It wasn't until they went a different route through the compound and arrived back at his door that he remembered that he was meant to be looking for an escape route. Apparently, being non-threatening was a good quality for a kidnapper to have, or Oikawa was too trusting.

Years of high-pressure runway situations and improvisation on photo shoots must have addled his mind, he supposed. When they were back in his room, his guard tugged the mask down from his mouth again.

"Just stay here. I'm trying to get you released," he told Oikawa, and disappeared through the door before the lock screeched in place and the footsteps slowly faded away.

The next time he saw his captor was at breakfast a great many hours, and he wondered at why he'd assumed this man was the one that had taken him when he had no evidence of it. He'd wondered a lot of things during the night when he only had four blank walls staring back at him, a piece of furniture that could only be called a bed if one was very generous, and a chair.

After the man had taken him to the bathroom and sat him back down, they watched in awkward silence for a minute or two while waiting for the steaming porridge to cool.

"Was it you who took me?" he asked, desperate for some conversation. He was a social animal, unfortunately.

"Yes," the man replied after a long pause, and ended further conversation by stuffing a spoonful of porridge in Oikawa's mouth. It had a little bit of jam in it to sweeten the flavour, and he couldn't help but appreciate it.

His next two days continued in similar fashion, dreadful boredom broken up by three visits a day. He couldn't stop his chatter when he finally had someone to listen to him.

"I had dinner reservations for this place that's meant to serve the best cheesecake you've ever tasted," he offered in conversation when he finished his dinner once, and the next time he had a tiny apple pie - clearly microwaved - on this plate too. The effort made him happier than the taste could've even if it were chef-prepared.

"I have a cat," he mentioned another time. "But my cousin'll be taking care of him for me. His name's, uh, Jim. For short. Makes it a bit easier to call him in in the evenings instead of running around going _Ushijima, Ushijima,_ dinner's ready!"

Eventually, he even got to shower, his arms sore from their position behind his back but the hot water soothed him. He turned it hotter until it made his skin pink, and his hair at least smelled vaguely of coconut. When he came back it was to jeans that were roughly his size, if a half-inch too long, and a t-shirt with a long-since faded logo on it. He got boots instead of the loafers he'd been wearing for the past few days, laced up to fit nice and snug.

And when his hands were bound back behind his back, they were substantially looser than before. When he tried to wiggle out of them, a gloved hands touched his wrists gently in warning. Though he wasn't sure why he trusted the unspoken sign, he settled down and stayed on his seat. Something in the air felt oddly tense, so instead of dozing and laying down, he stayed seated, tries to be alert.

Some time later, voices approached his door in tense conversation, though their words were muffled. The tone spoke volumes, and the voice he'd come to recognise as belonging to the man he saw each time seemed to be clearer than the others.

"He's a model," his captor argued, "he'll be recognised no matter where you send him. Someone will raise the alarm eventually."

The response was mumbled, but sounded annoyed at being challenged. It stopped outside his door, before the next sentence made his blood run cold.

"We can't sell him."

The staunch defence at least gave Oikawa the clarity of mind to think hard and think quick, and mimic the last movie he'd had a cameo in. He settled his hands behind him as if they were still attached to the chair, and let his head nod slightly forward as if he was on the verge of falling asleep.

When the door slammed open, he jerked his head up just a second after they ought to have seen him and looked around as if confused before settling his eyes on them. His shock didn't have to be faked then when saw two people - the source of the mumbles, a man with hair that greyed slightly at the tips, and a hard expression on his face. He looked like he wouldn't budge on his standpoint, backed up by the gun at his hip.

Next to him, though... Ushijima. The voice had sounded familiar, but it had deepened since high school. A shadow of stubble trailed Ushijima's cheeks and jawline, under eyes that were harder than Oikawa had ever seen them look. His hair remained close-cropped with just a little bit less length on top than before. Without the hood, under the pale light, he still looked like Oikawa's memories.

They'd lost touch, years ago, after a complex broken wrist from a car crash put Ushijima out of commission not long before the finals that would have decided everything for their teen selves. Oikawa had been heartbroken to have their personal rivalry swept out from under them, to be denied closure. He'd always been too shy to visit in the hospital and speak to Ushijima one-to-one, like a person instead of a rival. He'd always regretted it, wondered what could have happened if he'd just been honest about the crush that had driven him to work even harder to earn Ushijima's admiration.

"Look," the stranger said. "You can argue, but he's going."

The man stepped forward to grab at Oikawa's arm, and when out of the corner of his eye Oikawa saw Ushijima raise a hand to stop him, Oikawa slipped his hands from the bindings, gripped the chair, and raised his legs up to kick with all his strength. Kicked right in the stomach, the man stumbled backwards with the wind knocked out of him, and the chair Oikawa sat on threatened to topple over until he stood and made a run for the door.

Ushijima was at his side, grasped his wrist and tugged him to one side or another just seconds before they'd have to turn. When eventually light spilled through a small window in a door, Ushijima stopped to try a few different keycards, each with a different face on them with a different coloured strip. On the third one, the door beeped and unlocked, letting them run.

From the outside, the building he'd been in just looked like a farmhouse that had been sold and was waiting for its new tenants.

"This way," Ushijima hissed under his breath, and made for some trees through a well-worn path in the field. No footprints left, he supposed.

When they reached the trees and had walked for another five minutes or so, Ushjima patted himself down, tossing electronic after electronic into a small pond.

"Trackers," Ushijima offered by way of explanation. He could do better than that, though. He could maybe explain what was going on.

"Why do you work for them?" Oikawa asked, the question the first on his tongue because he couldn't imagine Oikawa settling for some psuedo-Yakuza gang of thugs as his life choice.

"Not now," Ushijima told him, stripping off the gloves he had on and leaving them there with his belt. Eventually he sighed. "I made some bad choices before university."

"I..." he continued, trailing off and taking Oikawa by the elbow to lead him in a seemingly almost random pattern through the surrounding forest. "After I broke my wrist, I didn't know what to do anymore."

They emerged from the trees with Ushijima still considering his words, into a little clearing off the side of a road. It had cars in it that looked like they just belonged to regular families, though that didn't stop Ushijima from smashing a window on an older little car. His choice was sound, as no alarm ripped through the sky. When he opened the door, he slid in and unlocked the passenger's side before folding himself to reach under the dashboard and fiddle with the wires.

"I was in such a dark place. When someone asked me if I wanted a job, I just... said yes." he continued, safer now Oikawa's expression would be hidden from him. "I wanted someone to tell me what to do with my future. And then..."

He sat back up, the engine starting with less of a roar and more of a whimper. They headed east, if the sun was anything to judge by. It cast warmth on them, at least. He probably could have done with a jacket to combat the breeze coming in through the window Ushijima had smashed then rolled down to hide the evidence.

"Well, they wouldn't stop telling me what to do with my future. Eventually I went to the police for help," Ushijima said. He opened the glovebox and directed Oikawa to rummage through it and look for parking change and the owners' address. "They would help me, but they asked if I would stay and help them dismantle the organisation. I still didn't know what else I wanted in my life, so I said yes."

When Oikawa found car registration documents, he took them and tucked them into his shirt pocket.

"I was fine until they sent me to take you. The Kalahari diamonds set is worth a few hundred million yen. There was no reason for me to say no, and... if it was me taking you, you'd at least be safe." The tips of Ushijima's ears turned just the faintest touch of red, and had Oikawa not been staring, he likely wouldn't have noticed. "I thought they'd let you go and just drop you in a village somewhere. When they wanted to traffic you..."

Ushijima shook his head, disgusted by the idea.

"You blew you cover for me?" Oikawa asked, making sure he'd gotten the right end of the stick. Being undercover in such a dangerous position... Ushijima would be in untold amounts of danger.

"I couldn't let you be taken," Ushijima said, his voice suddenly quieter, back to the tone that he'd use to soothe a spooked calf instead of scaring it away. "Not after I let you slip away once already."

The air seemed to flee from Oikawa's lungs, stealing his words along with his breath while he just sat in his chair. There wasn't much he could say to that, when he'd waited so long and expected never to hear those kinds of words.

Eventually, he reached out and patted around until he could put his hand over Ushijima's where it rested on the gear stick, warm and sure and safe.

He'd be getting a guard until he felt safe walking around again, but he'd definitely be keeping Ushijima around, too. If he wanted to be around.

"Would you-" he stopped, cleared his throat to get past the lump in it, and tried not to let his hand shake where it rested on Ushijima's. "Would you like to have dinner with me? Later this week?"

"Yes," Ushijima said, something like joy lurking under his calm voice. "I'll cook, if you'd let me."

And really, Oikawa could think of nothing better.


End file.
